Sleep Now
by tall-socks
Summary: Peter Parker comes down with the flu, but Gwen is there to pick up the pieces. Takes place shortly after the events of TASM. Basically a poor excuse for some sick!Peter and Gwen/Peter fluff. Now to be a multi-chaptered story.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor do I own any characters featured in this story. This was written purely for my own fun.**

**A/N: **

**This is my first attempt at writing for TASM, so please take it easy on me. And don't forget to R&amp;R! Every time a person reviews my stories, my power grows stronger. Fact. **

**Enjoy!**

Peter Parker had hardly been asleep an hour when his alarm clock (new, seeing as he'd wrecked the old one) loudly informed him that he'd be late for school if he didn't get up, like, _now_, and it was only through every ounce of his available willpower that he actually managed such a feat, dragging himself groggily out of the cozy embrace of his bed to face another mundane day and wild night like the one he'd retired from so recently it felt like he'd hardly blinked before morning arrived. This particular morning, however, felt unusual, at least compared to the last, and the reason behind this was something he couldn't quite put his finger on. At least, not until it fought its way to his attention through a series of very loud, very wet coughs.

He doubled over, half due to the force of the aforementioned coughs and half just in sheer surprise, and would have actually fallen to his knees if he had not caught his bearings just in time, straightening up slowly and warily as if fearing attack. No such attack came, however; at least not right away, and he was quickly confident enough in his own health to resume the task his alarm had so insistently dragged him out of bed to perform.

Getting ready took hardly any time at all (once he'd gotten the hang of actually being conscious) and Peter soon surmised that he'd actually get to class on time for once-if he could make it there without fainting, that is, and at that precise moment his hopes regarding his continued consciousness were not spectacularly high, even with the promise of one of Gwen's amazing kisses undoubtedly waiting for him at the high school. In fact, he thought as he wrestled with a pair of dark skinny jeans, his hopes regarding his continued consciousness were very, very _low_, and getting lower every second he spent upright.

He wasn't upright for much longer, though, for just when he'd finished buttoning his pants and was searching his messy floor for something warm to wear, his breath hitched and he sneezed so forcefully that he lost his already-unstable footing and fell unceremoniously to the carpeted floor, knocking over stacks of books and DVDs on his way down.

Aunt May had apparently heard the racket, for immediately following his tumble he heard her call up the stairs, "Peter?" but made no attempt at calling back down. His throat ached far too badly for that.

As he was sitting there, achy and sniffling and far too exhausted to stand up, he spotted an old, remarkably baggy sweater and slipped it on over his pajama shirt (and Spider-Man suit, which he'd gotten in the habit of never taking off) just in time for a knock to sound at his bedroom door, and he fumbled for a moment with the remote control, but eventually managed to get the mechanical lock to move. He groaned, "Come in."

The door opened and in slipped Aunt May, expression a mixture of concern and amusement to find her nephew in such a state as he was, all pale, shivering, and sitting cross-legged on the floor. He swallowed feebly.

"I fell down," he announced resignedly, voice hoarse from illness and lack of use.

"I can see that," replied Aunt May, shaking her head just a little. "Are you planning on getting up?"

Peter looked down at his bare feet and heaved a sigh, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. "Eventually," he finally said, eyes drifting back to the towering form of his aunt. She turned to leave.

"Well, just make it soon, or you'll miss your chance at getting breakfast before you leave."

He called out, "Not hungry," as she was leaving, but steeled himself to get up all the same.

Once he was up, he had only to wrestle on his worn sneakers and grab his backpack, but all the same it took him a good ten minutes to get downstairs where Aunt May was packing his lunch, entirely oblivious to her nephew's discomfort.

"Thanks, Aunt May," said Peter when his aunt handed him the bagged lunch. "See you later."

"I love you, Peter," she said by way of response, and smiled almost sadly when he trudged back over the ground he'd covered en route to the door to plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Love you too." And with that, he was off.

Despite the swiftness with which he'd gotten ready that morning and the fact that he'd skipped breakfast, Peter was still late to class, and would have undoubtedly been issued detention had he not looked so pathetic in his over-sized grey sweater with his skin so pale and eyes so wide and bright; seeing as he was so visibly under the weather, though, his teacher simply ushered him to his seat and made a mental note to send him to the nurse if given half a chance.

Gwen had made a similar note; so much was obvious in the way she scanned his face for a complete list of symptoms, and actually compiled a pretty decent one based entirely on the view she got of her boyfriend before he plopped down in the desk behind her own.

It wasn't until after class, however, that she got a chance to confirm these alleged symptoms.

"Peter, you look awful," she said when he met her by his locker, and he really did. His eyes look glassy and dazed, and the dark purple circles beneath them spoke of his exhaustion better than his words could; his skin was alabaster, except for his cheeks which were flushed with fever and his nose which was bright pink from irritation, and his breathing seemed labored, if not altogether painful. Gwen grimaced with sympathy when he sneezed harshly into his arm and wiped his nose with his sleeve in a most unsanitary (but undeniably cute) way.

"I feel awful," he rasped when he'd finished soiling his sleeve. "Can this day please be over with?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetie. It just started." Peter groaned loudly, and then erupted into a fit of violent coughs which wracked his slender (yet muscular) frame. "Why did you even come today?" asked Gwen when he'd finished hacking and retrieved his books from his locker, shutting it forcefully with his elbow and following her to grab her own books before class.

He made a vague "I don't know" sound and ran his fingers through his unruly hair, tousling it even further and making impossible for Gwen to bite back a smile. "I guess I just wanted to be with you."

Her heart fluttered a bit at the statement despite how it simultaneously threatened to trigger her gag reflex, and she found her fingers reaching out to stroke his cheek before her brain could tell them to do otherwise. When they touched his heated skin, however, they retracted slightly in mild wonder at just how hot it was. She was surprised he was still upright, in fact.

"You're burning up, Peter," she told him, watching carefully how his body shivered in contradiction and making a split second decision. "C'mon," she beckoned, holding out her hand.

"Where are we going?" Peter asked weakly, sniffling.

"We're cutting class. You're in no shape to be here today."

Peter followed without protest, trudging along like a trooper despite how he was practically quaking with fever and about _this _close to keeling over, and Gwen did her very best to get him back to his house as quickly and painlessly as was possible in his current state, something he appreciated immensely though he made no effort to tell her so just then.

By the time they arrived at the Parker residence, Peter was all but sagging with exhaustion and Gwen was certain he wouldn't remain conscious for much longer, but all the same relief flooded them both to be there, and in such good time considering their current hindrance. Aunt May, too, looked happy to have them there, though mostly she was worried about Peter (and rightly so) who had collapsed into the first chair he came across, drenched in sweat and shivering all the time but looking infinitely better just on account of being someplace safe and warm and distinctly _not _school.

They didn't explain to her that they'd cut out of school and she didn't ask, being much more concerned with helping Gwen get Peter to bed than any alleged rule-breaking they might have done, for which Gwen was unbelievably grateful, and in no time at all the two women had Peter tucked into his bed and a thermometer tucked under his tongue.

"I'll leave you to rest, then," said Aunt May after Gwen had checked the thermometer and pumped him full of flu medicine. "I can tell you're in good hands." And then she departed, shutting the door behind her and leaving the couple alone.

"You should probably get some sleep," Gwen announced after a few beats of silence. "I'll stay, though. That is, if you want me."

"I do," said Peter, perhaps just a bit too quickly. "Please stay."

Gwen smiled then, and planted a kiss on her boyfriend's fevered brow. "I will. Sleep now."

And with one more feeble smile, Peter did just that.

**A/N:**

**Thanks for reading! Please R&amp;R, and have a great day! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor do I own any characters featured in this story. This is purely for the entertainment of myself and others. **

**A/N:**

**Well, it happened. I changed my mind and decided to lengthen this story. **

**Seeing as I have only the vague outlines of a plot in my mind, I have no real idea how many chapters it will end up being. I'm just going to wing it. **

**Thank you all for the kind words you left me, and I hope you continue to enjoy this overly-fluffy product of my imagination. **

**xoxo**

Gwen Stacey hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep in Peter Parker's bed until she woke half-atop him to the sound of his harsh coughs and the feeling of him quaking beneath her with the force of them.

It was still day, if the light streaming through the blinds was anything to go by, and probably around lunchtime if her nose didn't deceive her and Aunt May was, in fact, making soup, and she could only pray that she was right, knowing very well that if she was out late her mother would be worried sick. After all, the woman had already lost a husband recently; Gwen doubted she'd be anything but overprotective of her children from that day forward. Perhaps she could get off the hook if she explained that Peter was ill and left out the bit about cutting class, but she'd still prefer for it not to come to that.

Speaking of...

Peter's coughing had ceased, but his face was now flushed red and his eyes had taken on even more of a glazed look, which led her to believe he was far from recovered. Not that she'd expected him to be in so little time, but she'd held out hope that maybe the medicine would at least lessen his suffering for the few days he'd be forced to endure it. It was still a wonder to her that he could fall ill anymore, but then what did she really know about spidey powers?

He looked up from the pillow he'd previously been holding on to like a lifeline and met Gwen's concerned gaze with a look of utter pain that made her heart flip in empathy, his eyes looking distant and his face damp and pale, and she couldn't quite shake the thought that he looked utterly cadaverous despite how it pained her.

"How are you feeling?" she offered, at a loss for what to say when he looked at her with those sad, chocolate brown eyes. "Did-uh-is the medicine working any?"

Peter coughed pathetically into his fist and slowly rolled himself onto his back, hair splaying out all over the pillow case. "I have the plague," he told her matter-of-factly. Whether he'd missed her questions in his fevered daze or had just chosen to ignore them was entirely unclear.

"I highly doubt that you have the plague, Peter Parker," said Gwen, feeling amused despite their current situation.

"No," Peter insisted, "I do. It's the Black Death. I can feel it sapping away my life-force." She rolled her eyes. "For real."

She laughed, then, and he shot her a wide, dorky grin that made her insides positively melt. In fact, he was so cute she was certain she would've kissed him and caught herself the plague if only Aunt May hadn't softly knocked just then.

"Come in," said Gwen and Peter in unison, and Aunt May quickly obeyed, sliding the door open and coming in with a smile.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said, and Peter shot her an incredulous look and shook his head vigorously.

He said, "What wou-What could you possibly be interrupting?" and Gwen bit back an embarrassed laugh. "I'm bedridden with the Black Death, Aunt May."

"Well, sorry, Mr. Dramatization," she jested, crossing her arms across her rib cage. "I just came to tell you that there's soup downstairs if you want it."

Peter groaned childishly, hands holding his stomach, and said, "I'm _really_ not hungry."

"Well, you're _really_ still eating," Gwen retorted, mimicking his tone of voice and earning herself a look of total and utter betrayal from the overgrown child tucked cozily into bed. "C'mon. You're going to eat, and you're going to do it at the table like a big boy."

Grumbling, Peter reluctantly obeyed and rolled cautiously out of bed, stopping for a moment to squint at Gwen who now occupied the space by the door that Aunt May had just vacated. "Oh!" the blonde exclaimed, skipping over to his desk when she realized his reason for squinting. "Sorry about that." She brushed aside some of the clutter and, after a few moments of searching, stood before Peter and slipped his glasses on for him. "I forgot about the whole-" she gestured to his eyes, which were now focused on her, "glasses thing."

He didn't respond, instead opting for a small nod that knocked some strands of messy hair into his face.

They descended then-Gwen first, and then Peter, much more slowly and with a pained look etched on his face-and quickly joined Aunt May in the dining room where she was ladling soup into bowls, humming to herself all the time and smiling almost sadly when Peter dropped heavily into a chair and Gwen took the seat across from him.

Aunt May gave them each a bowl and took one for herself before sitting down next to Gwen (likely to keep an eye on Peter), and they all dug in. Or well, two of them did, anyway. When Gwen looked up from her bowl of steaming chicken and vegetable soup, she found that Peter was eyeing his warily, as if he was worried it may jump up and bite him. She tried not to giggle.

"Peter, you're not eating," she pointed out, effectively transferring his attention from the bowl to herself.

He gulped. "I'm not hungry."

Gwen rolled her eyes at that, resisting the urge to fling her spoon at the brunette to knock some sense into him. "So I've heard," she said, gently placing her spoon back in her bowl. "Am I going to have to feed you?"

"...No?"

"Peter," she warned, fixing him with a hard stare, but her warning did nothing but encourage him to bring out the puppy dog eyes, and soon she and Aunt May were being blasted by the full power of Peter Parker's adorableness.

She almost caved. When faced with that terrible bedhead and the big, brown eyes and the sweater and those glasses, who wouldn't have? Throw in a trembling lower lip and a bad case of the sniffles and you had yourself a practically invincible weapon, but she refused to let him win. Her will started to slip, though, and she found herself wondering if Spider-Man had ever employed the puppy dog eyes.

"Peter Parker, eat your soup."

"Agh!" he exclaimed, dropping the cute act in surrender. "Fine. I will eat. And then when I vomit, you will have to live with it on your conscience."

Gwen smiled. "That's a risk I'm willing to take," she said, and watched as Peter made a show of swallowing a single spoonful of the soup and scrunching his face in exaggerated discomfort. From then on, though, he didn't need any encouragement, and actually managed to finish his bowl before Gwen finished hers.

"Not hungry, huh?" laughed Gwen when Peter had finished drinking the remaining broth straight from the bowl, much to Aunt May's horror.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he said, shaking his head and further tousling his unruly hair. "Do we have any milk?" This was directed at his aunt, though he didn't wait around for an answer before he stood a bit too quickly, steadied himself, and then continued on his way to the refrigerator.

Aunt May called after him, "Peter Parker, don't you dare put your germy mouth on my milk carton!" and was greeted with silence, followed immediately by the teenage nephew in question poking his head out the doorway and smiling a wide, milk-mustachioed smile.

"Now why on earth would I do a thing like that?" he asked, emerging with a glass of milk in hand and then plopping down in his earlier seat. "Honestly, Aunt May, it's like you don't know me at all."

She rolled her eyes and went back to her soup.

"So are you feeling any better now that you've got some food in you?" asked Gwen pointedly, only _partially_ out of want for an "I-told-you-so" opportunity.

"Loads," Peter replied, smiling so gratefully that she couldn't bring herself to rub it in his face. He yawned widely then, slouching a little in his seat and sipping quietly at his milk. Gwen merely smiled.

Five minutes later found Gwen and Aunt May finishing their soup and Peter dozing in his chair, half-empty milk glass left abandoned on the table as he repeatedly drifted off and then snapped himself back to reality and semi-consciousness with his spider-like agility, slumping forward a bit more every moment he remained undisturbed from this pattern. The women exchanged looks, and Gwen leaned forward to shake her boyfriend into full wakefulness.

"Peter, honey, if you're that tired you should go to bed," she told him, heart fluttering a bit when he blinked sleepily at her through his glasses.

"Mm, sleep," he hummed, smiling goofily and then standing unsteadily to his feet. "Okay, bedtime. Nighty night." Gwen laughed.

"Goodnight, Peter." He gave the two ladies one last wide, dorky grin, and then waddled down the hall and ascended the stairs sluggishly, leaving Gwen and Aunt May behind with the dishes.

**A/N:**

**Thanks for reading! Please review if you've got a moment. Your words of encouragement are what keep me writing! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Amazing Spider-Man or any of the characters featured in this story. This is for entertainment purposed only. **

**A/N:**

**Thank you all for the reviews and for your patience in between chapters, and I hope you enjoy this latest installment!**

Peter was drifting in and out of sleep almost immediately after his head hit the pillow, eyelids heavy and head pounding away behind his eyes despite his much-improved condition. He hadn't lied to Gwen about feeling loads better; his limbs were aching, and it had become entirely impossible for him to breathe through his nose, but his stomach was no longer rolling with nausea and the soup had even done wonders to soothe his throat and ultimately warm him allover, so he considered himself on the mend.

Sleep came easy when he was this exhausted, but it was fickle, and he was back in wakefulness for fourth time in what must've been a matter of minutes when Gwen slipped quietly in his door, ponytail bobbing and bare feet making quiet padding noises as she approached his bed, brow furrowed in concern to find him relatively awake.

"Did I wake you?" she asked worriedly, sitting gently on the edge of the bed.

He shook his head, hair ruffling itself thoroughly against the pillow, and spoke in a quiet voice. "Nah," he said, coughing a little into his fist. "Just bad timing, I guess."

She nodded her understanding, and then scooted closer so as to gain better access to his forehead, which she felt gently with the back of her hand and made a small humming noise. "I think all the medicine finally kicked in," she told him. "Your fever's gone down."

"Or maybe soup really is a cure-all," he jested, laughing a little until he was seized by a series of harsh sneezes. "Nnnnlllgghhh," he groaned, sniffling loudly and wiping his nose on his sleeve again.

"Peter, that's gross," said Gwen disapprovingly, crossing the room to retrieve a box of tissues from the desk. She passed them to him, and he gratefully took one and blew his nose loudly into it, eyes scrunching up and eyebrows pulling together in a cute sort of grimace before rolling up the tissue and tossing it into the wastebasket across the room using what spidey powers he had at his disposal in this condition. Gwen shook her head endearingly. "Okay now?"

"Stellar," said Peter, sniffling loudly and wetly with a look of utter disgust.

"I'm glad," Gwen smiled, leaning forward to run her fingers through his hair. "You should try and get some rest now." Nodding his agreement, Peter snuggled further under the covers and allowed himself to doze. Within a matter of moments, though, he was up again; this time with wide, worried eyes and sort of urgency in the way he toppled out of bed, hitting the floor surprisingly gracefully and booking it to the bathroom.

Dropping to the floor in front of the toilet, Peter proceeded to bring up all the soup and milk he'd swallowed in a bout of retching, eyes leaking and face breaking out in a sweat as he struggled to breathe through his vomiting. Gwen had a soothing hand on his back all the time, though, and after a few minutes of gently rubbing along his shoulder blades, she managed to calm him enough to get his breathing back in order while he finished dry heaving over the porcelain, brown eyes blinking tears away blearily and one hand flushing the toilet while the other wiped sweat from his pale brow.

"Better now?" she asked, and when he nodded, she heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry," she said then, shaking her head and causing her blonde ponytail to bounce around.

"Not your fault," he replied, already nodding off again, and it was all she could do not to make some remark regarding his earlier statement ("...when I vomit, you will have to live with it on your conscience.") "Can we sleep now?"

"Sure," she said, making to stand until he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "What?" she asked, to which he replied:-

"Can't move. Too tired. Let's stay here."

"Peter, I'm not letting you sleep, flu-ridden, on the cold bathroom floor," she objected, though a smile pulled at the corners of her lips.

He said, "Then go get a blanket to lie on," and honestly, she couldn't argue with that, so she obeyed.

Five minutes later found the two of them sound asleep on an impromptu floor-bed, hands clasped tightly even in sleep and breathing patterns evened out to match, and they remained this way until Gwen was forced to get up and return home with little warning and a promise to visit in the morning.

"Get some rest," she instructed after having helped Peter back to bed. "Gotta get better so you can get back to saving the world."

"I'll do what I can," he said, yawning widely and waving weakly. "It's hardly like crime takes sick days, though." Gwen rolled her eyes at this, and leaned over to kiss his forehead gently, hands pulling the covers up to his neck.

"Sleep now, Peter Parker. I'll be back in the morning."

And with that, she was gone.

Five hours later, Gwen Stacy was seated on her living room sofa with her mother and younger brothers, television playing the news while the relatively happy family ate ice cream and sipped caffeinated beverages despite the fact that it was a school night.

There'd been an armed robbery in Queens, according to the news anchor currently babbling away about irrelevant matters, the culprits in question being two adult men who were fleeing from the crime scene (a small shop on a street corner) at high speeds, guns clasped in their gloved-hands and bystanders rushing for shelter from any potential shooting. Gwen's mother had a hand pressed to her lips, and her daughter sighed in understanding.

Ever since the death of George Stacy, the family had suffered anew at every mention of crime and police-work, for it reminded them of what George had so avidly believed in and what had ultimately taken him from them too soon; but all the same they'd taken to watching the news every night after dinner. Usually, these watching sessions would come to an abrupt end when the sorrow became too much for widowed Mrs. Stacy and she would make a graceful exit for her bedroom where she could grieve alone. Tonight, however, it was Gwen who ultimately broke up the pack, though not for the same reasons as her mother.

"I have just received news," announced the male anchor on the screen, hair overly-greasy and smile a bit too wide, "that the masked hero famously known as Spider-Man has been spotted chasing the culprits two blocks from the initial scene of the crime. We have yet to-"

Gwen didn't stay long enough to hear the end of the report; she was far to busy making a mad dash for her cell phone in order to give a certain ailing superhero an earful about exerting energy when in such a state as the one she'd left him in.

"Peter Benjamin Parker!" she shrieked into her cellular when she was safely out of earshot on her fire escape. "Just _what _do you think you're doing?!"

"Uhh," came the hoarse, muffled reply. "Saving innocent civilians?"

Gwen was fuming. "Peter, you do not chase down armed robbers with the _flu_!" she exclaimed, dragging a hand across her tired face in irritation. "That is just _not_ something you do!"

"I doubt these guys have the flu," he joked, breathing heavily into the receiver.

"_This is not the time for jokes!_"

"Geez, Gwen, what're you so worried about?" panted Peter, gunshots sounding in the background of the phone call. "I've got this all under control. I deal with guys like these every day." She could hear his quick, light footfalls, as well as those of the slower, heavier thieves he was presently barreling after, and her chest tightened with fear.

"When I left Aunt May's you were too tired to move from the bathroom floor to your bed, and now you're running after criminals with _guns_," she hissed, leaning back against the side of the building. "There are too many things to be worried about for me to name all in one phone call."

"I'll be fine," assured Peter, supposedly slinging a web at one or both of the robbers. "Look, I gotta go. Gotta, uh, wrap some things up."

She sighed resignedly. "At least call me when you're home to let me know you're okay."

"Will do. Talk to you later," he said.

"Be careful," replied Gwen, and with that, he hung up.

She waited ten whole minutes in agony before her phone finally rang and she picked up to be greeted with a breathy, "hi," and the sound of several things falling to the ground.

"Hi," she said, too relieved just now to give him a hard time about that little stunt. "Are you okay?" she asked, listening closely to what she assumed was him attempting to wrestle off his suit.

"Fine," he gasped, allegedly falling to the ground with a loud _thud! _"Super, actually. Police have the culprits in custody."

"Good, I'm glad," said Gwen, breathing deeply to gather her bearings. "Now, just _what _were you thinking, Peter Parker?" This latter part was half-yelled, and she could practically hear him wince.

"I was thinking," he began, "that there were a couple of maniacs with guns not too far from here and somebody should probably stop them before they shot someone."

Gwen shook her head. "And you thought that _you _were the somebody for the job?" she asked, incredulous. "You, Peter Parker, who couldn't even keep down a bowl of soup just a few hours ago and who has been running a fever since this morning?"

"Well," he said, voice scratchy, "yeah."

Gwen heaved a heavy sigh, ponytail pressed against the brick of the outside apartment wall and bare feet dangling from the grating of the fire escape as she searched her mind for a suitable answer. "You could've been seriously hurt, Peter," she said at length. "You could've gotten someone else hurt. Aunt May could've noticed you were gone. You could've slipped up and gotten your identity discovered. So much could've gone wrong!" She wanted to be furious, but mainly she was just flabbergasted.

"But nothing _did _go wrong," he said, and she could almost hear the smile he cracked before he was interrupted by an intense fit of coughing.

"You probably made yourself even sicker than you already were," she said, breathing deeply. "You should get some rest."

"I plan to," he responded when the fit had subsided.

"Then you should get on that." She assumed he nodded at that. "Goodnight, Peter. I'm glad you're safe. Sleep well."

"Sorry I worried you," he said gruffly. "Will you still come see me in the morning?"

"Of course," said Gwen gently. "Get some sleep." She hung up then, and he settled down for a night of fitful sleep, not knowing at all what he'd gotten himself into.

**A/N:**

**Please R&amp;R!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Amazing Spider-Man or any of the characters featured in this story. I write this purely for the entertainment of myself and others. **

**A/N:**

**Today's chapter is a bit short, I know, but I just felt I should follow up on Peter's little adventure from last chapter. **

**Also, I'm thinking at this point that the next chapter will be the last, but fear not, for I've got another little story in mind that should be chock full of Gwen/Peter fluff (if I actually get around to writing it). **

**Enjoy!**

Having fallen asleep with ease shortly after his ended phone call with Gwen, Peter Parker was surprised to be awoken in the middle of the night for no identifiable reason except to cool down, his limbs suddenly feeling leaden with an energy-sapping heat and entirely soaked by the sweat leaking out of every single pore. His room was stifling.

The only thought to cross his mind, even when he peered over to read the digital _4:32 _on the screen of his alarm clock, was that he needed to get someplace cool, like, _now_, or else. Or else what, he didn't care to consider, even when his tired legs initially refused to function when he made to get out from under the covers; all he knew was that he couldn't be here anymore, and so as soon as he physically could, he gripped his pillow in one hand and made his way as quickly as he could out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the living room.

Once there, he curled up on the sofa with the aforementioned pillow and fell quickly asleep, not even considering his actions until he was awoken much later that morning by Aunt May.

"What in the _world _are you doing down here, Peter?" she asked, eyes wide and worried to find her nephew shivering and sweating on the couch before he'd usually even rise for school. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"Too hot," was all he could choke out past chapped, cracking lips, only half because he really had no idea why else he could be down here and not tucked safely into bed where Gwen Stacy had left him. His mind felt more sluggish than he could ever recall it having felt in his seventeen years of genius-intellect.

"Honey," Aunt May said, approaching where he lay with one hand stretched tentatively towards his face, "It's very cold in your room, just like you like it. If anything, it's warmer down here."

"S'hot everywhere," whined Peter, hardly understanding a word she said. "Like a sauna. How have we lived this long?"

Aunt May crouched down beside the couch, then, and pressed her hand to Peter's cheek, and then to his forehead. "Oh, Peter," she said after some moments of somber consideration. "You're positively roasting."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," he said, misunderstanding but making no objection when she exited the room and returned minutes later with the thermometer. He didn't even need to be asked to open up and lift his tongue, and even fell into an uneasy sleep in the minutes they waited for the reading.

"103.8," read Aunt May in alarm, effectively waking Peter and causing him to squint around in askance. Apparently in his fevered daze, he'd forgotten to travel with his glasses. "How could you have gotten this sick overnight?"

It had been a rhetorical question, but Peter responded all the same with a jesting, "I competed in a triathlon last night." Aunt May shook her head, not appreciating humor at such a time. "Should I not have done that?" Peter added, goofy smile splitting his features until his laughter turned into a particularly bad bout of strident coughs.

Aunt May had every intention of calling an ambulance just then (you can't be too careful, she thought), when a knock sounded at the door and she rushed to let Gwen in out of the cold.

"Good morning," said Gwen brightly, smile faltering when she saw the look on Aunt May's face. "What's wrong? Is he okay?"

"His fever climbed overnight," explained Aunt May, leading Gwen swiftly to the living room. "It's nearing 104. I was going to take him to the hospital."

"No!" objected Gwen, knowing that a hospital would be bad news as far as keeping his identity a secret went. "I mean, we can probably get his temperature down ourselves. Would you please help me get him upstairs?" Aunt May nodded her compliance, and between the two of them they were able to get Peter (who was luckily much lighter than you'd assume, even considering that most of his strength was due to the bite) up the stairs and into the bathroom, whereupon Gwen ran a lukewarm bath for the dozing teenager.

"Okay," said Gwen when the tub was half-full. "I guess..." she trailed off, trying to take an inconspicuous peek under his shirt to check that he wasn't in his Spider-Man suit. "I guess we should get him undressed."

Aunt May didn't even question the suggestion, and immediately set to work stripping Peter down to his grey boxers before helping Gwen direct him towards the tub.

It was a struggle (to say the least) to get a feverish super-teen into a bathtub of coldish water with him fighting non-stop, but it was a feat the two women eventually managed regardless of Peter's objections, and after what felt like an eternity of watching the boy sulk in his now-soaked boxers, they took his temperature to discover it had dropped to a more-manageable 102.6.

They allowed him to get out and dry off, then, and a few moments later he was wrapped in a large towel and shivering profusely while water collected around his feet. Gwen checked her watch around this time, and exclaimed, "oh!" when she realized she was running late for school.

"I've gotta get going!" she told Aunt May, who was using another, smaller towel to dry Peter's hair a bit. "I'm sorry to just run off like this, but I don't want to be any later than I already am!"

"No worries," assured Aunt May, rubbing Peter's towel-clad back gently. "You've done more than enough already. Thank you so much."

"It was no problem, really," said Gwen, and then bid them farewell.

"Alrighty, then," said Aunt May when she'd gone. "Let's get you dressed and back in bed, shall we?" And that's just what they did.

Aunt May led the way to Peter's smallish bedroom and allowed him to sit on the bed while she searched his closet for something clean to wear, eventually bringing him a pair of plaid pajama pants and an old t-shirt of Uncle Ben's and grumbling about how he really needed to do some laundry. From there, the next issue was trying to convince May to let him dress himself, which he managed after only a few minutes of quiet arguing.

Once he was dressed and no longer liable to shiver himself to pieces, Aunt May led the way downstairs where he'd decided to sleep for now (this time bringing a blanket and his glasses) and in a matter of minutes, he was sleeping soundly on the sofa with the comforting sounds of Aunt May cleaning in the background.

**Thanks for reading, and don't forget to R&amp;R! xoxo**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor do I own any of the characters featured in this story. This is purely for fun.**

**A/N:**

**So this is the last chapter. ****It's fairly short, and fairly pointless, but then, so's the entire rest of the story.**

**I want to thank you all yet again for the support you've given me throughout this silly little story, and tell you from the bottom of my heart that your reviews mean the world to me. Without you, this story would've ended four chapters ago and I would have been denied the fun of playing around with Gwen and Peter's relationship to the extent that I have, and so for that, I thank you again. **

**Please enjoy this last installment of Sleep Now, and leave me a review at the end if you feel so inclined. **

**Thanks!**

Gwen returned to the Parker residence at 4:00 on the dot with her black umbrella in hand (the forecast had called for rain that afternoon) and her backpack slung over her blazer-clad shoulder, thin, bare legs breaking out in goosebumps when a particularly cold gust of wind attacked her from behind just before Aunt May opened the glass door for her.

"Good afternoon, Gwen," said she, kind smile etched on her face though her eyes spoke of worry. Gwen's heart did a small back-flip in fear, but when Aunt May invited her in and showed her to the sofa where Peter had taken up semi-permanent residence, she found him to be relatively well and wide awake, scribbling away at what she assumed must be homework. She approached the couch, and sat on the side he wasn't curled up on.

"Hi, Peter," she said gently, smiling when he looked at her with surprise, as if he'd been too immersed in his work to notice her arrival. His glasses were perched on his nose, and she was happy to find his eyes clear and focused-if a bit feverish, still-and the flush of his cheeks much fainter than it'd been that morning. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," he said, scratching his temple with the pencil clutched in his shaky hand. "I, uh, really can't remember much of this morning, though. There's kind of a, uh, blank space in my memory."

She nodded her understanding. After all, she'd been excepting as much. "I'm really not surprised," she confessed, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand. "You were running quite the fever." She lowered her voice. "Aunt May wanted to take you to the hospital."

Peter scrunched up his nose, and she thought for a moment it was in distaste until he suddenly sneezed forcefully into the crook of his arm; "Hhhhtttchhhggh!"

"Bless you," said Gwen quietly, retrieving a tissue from the box he had on the arm of the sofa.

He made a sound that sounded suspiciously like "thank you", and then blew his nose loudly and wetly into the provided tissue, eyes scrunching up in disgust. "I take it you're still feeling pretty crummy, then," Gwen deducted, brushing hair from his pale forehead. He shrugged.

"Maybe just a little," he rasped quietly when he'd finished with the tissue and tossed it into the trash can across the room. "Definitely better than I did, though."

He didn't specify when he'd been feeling worse, but Gwen assumed that this was an improvement nonetheless. "How long have you been up?" she asked, nodding towards the book and notebook he had in his lap.

"Uhm," he looked towards the wall clock, "maybe an hour? An hour an a half? Aunt May woke me to try and get me to eat something," he explained, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose using his pencil.

"Did you?"

"Hm?" he asked, eyebrows raised and hair falling around in disarray.

"Did you eat something?" Gwen elaborated, thoughtlessly combing her fingers through his greasy, unwashed hair. She couldn't get over how handsome we was, even when ailing.

"Oh," he said, "Yeah. I had some toast."

Gwen asked, "and you kept it down?" to which he nodded. She clapped then, and laughed lightly when he bowed and repeatedly thanked the "crowd" for their enthusiasm.

"We should do something," said Gwen after some moments of comfortable silence in which she gazed somewhere into the distance and he watched her with much interest. "Let's play a board game, or watch a movie or something."

"We could do both," suggested Peter, moving his stuff from his lap to the coffee table. "Y'know, put in a DVD and grab the Monopoly board. Having a movie on might lessen the chances of our relationship reaching its premature end due to some Monopoly battle and, eventually, someone's epic loss."

Gwen laughed at that, shaking her head at the ludicrous thought if only because it wasn't _so _ludicrous at all. Monopoly was quite a game. "Okay," she agreed after some consideration. "You're on, Bug Boy. But know that no amount of movie background noise will prevent me from kicking your butt."

"I take that as a challenge," replied Peter, raising one thick eyebrow and rising slowly from his seat. "Let's go pick a movie."

Several minutes later they were seated on the floor on either end of the coffee table with the opening credits of _She's All That_ playing on the television screen, Peter sniffling and rubbing at his nose with a tissue in irritation, and Gwen setting up the Monopoly board, eyes flicking to her boyfriend warily every few seconds just to be sure he was quite alright. Peter pretended not to notice this latter part.

Pretty soon, the duo was fully immersed in the game, though they did occasionally break out of their trance to see what was currently happening onscreen and laugh at any jokes or antics despite having both seen the film countless times. It was at the end of the movie, though, that they fully broke free from the game, for something about that particular ending had both teenagers leaning in for a kiss before either of them could even consider that Aunt May was just two rooms over. Before their lips met, however, Peters stopped.

"We shouldn't," he breathed, lips inches from hers and breath hot against her face. "I don't want to get you sick."

"Like I care about that," Gwen replied, hurriedly pulling his head towards her so that their lips smashed together almost forcefully. He tried to speak through the passionate kisses, but Gwen stole his thing and gasped, "shut up," into his parted lips.

They kissed for what felt like ages before Peter pulled away gasping, chest heaving for air though a goofy smile was plastered on his face. "What?" Gwen asked.

"Gwen kisses," was his only reply, eyes alight with giddiness and fever and breaths gradually slowing. She rolled her eyes, but was smiling all the time.

"Whatever, you dork," she jested lightly, eyes drifting toward the game board. "So who wins?"

Peter didn't answer that, mischievous eyes glancing between the board and Gwen herself. "Don't you dare, Peter Parker," she warned, but he didn't listen. Rather, he gripped the edge of the board between two fingers and flipped it in the air so that all the little plastic pieces went flying and all record of their game was lost. "I hate you."

"No you don't," he grinned, leaning forward to peck her lips tenderly.

"No," Gwen agreed, arms now wrapped around his neck while she played absently with his hair. "I really don't."

They kissed again, much gentler this time, and afterwards Peter remarked, "I'm sleepy."

"You've only been up for three hours," Gwen said, and Peter shrugged.

"But I'm sleepy," he said. "Let's take a nap."

Gwen agreed, and got to work cleaning up the discarded Monopoly pieces. Then, with this task completed, the two ascended the stairs to Peter's bedroom, whereupon Peter got into bed and Gwen lay down beside him, eyes glued to his and fingers stroking his brown locks.

"Somehow, you make me not hate being sick," Peter confessed after some minutes of silence, chocolate eyes drooping with exhaustion.

"I'm glad to be of service," Gwen joked, smiling just a bit. "But let's not make a habit out of this."

"I don't plan to."

"Good."

They were silent again, Peter getting sleepier by the moment but not wanting to drift off when Gwen was still there and looking so lovely with her wide, green eyes and her blonde bangs in mild disarray. He kissed her gently, and she grinned against his lips.

"You're tired," she said, pressing her forehead to his and allowing their lips to meet again.

"Yeah, I am," replied Peter. "But I don't want to waste time sleeping when we could do this." He kissed her.

"It was your idea to take a nap," she pointed out, causing him to stick out his tongue and narrowly miss licking her nose by mistake. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Bug Boy," she said. "I promise."

She kissed him once more, then, brushing his hair from his face and cradling his cheek with all the tenderness she could muster. "Sleep now, Peter Parker," she whispered just before drifting to sleep herself. And within a minute, they were snoring softly in perfect unison.

_End_

**A/N:**

**Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Please leave a review, and have a wonderful day!**


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